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Drunken Ramblings - Stanford
Swaye
Moderator, Swaye's Wigwam Posts: 41,064
So there I was, balls deep in the spirit world…
Wait. I suppose I should back this bitch up a little and tell you assholes about my last three days and nights. So, when Sven got banned, then unbanned, then fagged out, I was sort of lost. Like the kind of lost you are when you take a drunken shit in a bar, and then realize there is no toilet paper in the stall. Or when Babushka tries to do maff. So, shit assed lost.
To mourn that citrus bombing fuck hole, I thought I should take a walk and get some perspective. By walk, I mean get naked, strap a crossbow to my back, stick a beef jerky under each armpit, hold a knife between my teeth, cram as much blow into a canteen as possible, sketch out an extremely small topographical map of the area on my dong, and head off into the forest. I bet everyone is wondering why I didn’t bring water. Well, flake > water fuck face. I also make poor life choices. Like being a Husky fan.
So anyway, I pack my shit, draw squiggly lines all over my junk, and head into the woods. I noticed something right away. There are lots of trees in the woods. This realization, two days before doing battle with the Tree, coupled with my pathetic attention span, made me forget all about Sven. Fuck that guy. I am surrounded by our nemesis! Fucking green acorn dropping death machines. After sizing up the situation, outnumbered hundreds to one, I decide to attack. I pick out one extremely formidable looking sapling, and commence the blitzkrieg. After 12 hours of sawing with my pocket knife, it falls. On me. I went down like Dwayne Warshington during a half arm tackle. By an old woman. Fuck. The lesson here is if you have anything to do with Husky Football, no matter how tangentially, a Tree will stick it right in your shitter.
So anyway, there I am, pinned under this tree, kind of crabbing about like one of our Offensive lineman after he gets rolled on pretty much every play of any game. After a few hours stuck under the tree, I realize there seems to be a mushroom farm wedged into my ass. I root around for awhile with my free hand and find a couple. I eat them. Spirit world motherfuckers! I saw everything in the entire universe focused into two distinct points, the good and the bad. On one side there was Keeley Hazell, naked and ripe. On the other was our idiot football team looking dejected and befuddled on the sideline while Psalm Wooching danced some fag dance with fire. I became enraged and hard all at the same time. I used retard redman strength to splinter that 3 inch sapling, and I was free motherfuckers.
New mission. Either find Keeley Hazell and get her to go ATM, or napalm Husky Stadium. I begin my trek out of the forest. I am still stoned, and look like a naked Indian version of Crazy Larry after a 23 day bender.
As I ninja crawl out of the forest, I come upon a bear. An enormous black bear. @DennisDeYoung would like him. Cause he’s black. And enormous. So anyway, this bear starts talking to me. He says his name is Chris, and then asked me if I had any nachos. I’m 81% sure I blacked out at this point, and when I woke up most of my coke was gone and that goddamn bear had written dick jokes on my face. The lesson here is that when you suck at football, or are stoned out of your mind, a fat doog bear will come along and bitch slap you. Like Cal, who is still ranked too high, but better than the Huskies. Because Peterman.
I finally make it out of the forest, naked, covered in cuts, bark and bruises, dick jokes written all over my face, jerky lost, powder all stolen, crossbow missing, poison ivy swelling my junk (which really helped out with the topographical map), and thirsty as fuck (poor life decisions). I wander into this little town, and see a woman. I walk up and ask her if she has any Indian in her, when she says no and looks horrified, I ask her if she wants some. In what can only be described as another "fuck my life" moment, a small band of unicycle riding bodyguard circus pygmies hit me in the face with a brick, the woman cackles maniacally, and I wake up in jail. Turns out it was Barbara Hedges, the bastard pygmies worked for her, and this was one more fuck you insult from the football Gods on my odyssey.
I watch the game on a shitty little 27 inch TV behind bars with my cellmates Jesus (say that in Messican), Ryan Leaf, and some black dude everyone called String. The game summary is we? look like a competitor in the retard Olympics, and there is no reason to dissect it because Husky Football is dead and buried and any attempt to resurrect it will be met with laughter from the Gods and a swift kick in the balls.
Fuck this program. Fuck Upper Campus. Fuck this AD. Fuck this coaching staff. Fuck this team. And fuck me for having been born a fucking Husky fan. I hate everything. Even the spirit world took a shit on me.
Wait. I suppose I should back this bitch up a little and tell you assholes about my last three days and nights. So, when Sven got banned, then unbanned, then fagged out, I was sort of lost. Like the kind of lost you are when you take a drunken shit in a bar, and then realize there is no toilet paper in the stall. Or when Babushka tries to do maff. So, shit assed lost.
To mourn that citrus bombing fuck hole, I thought I should take a walk and get some perspective. By walk, I mean get naked, strap a crossbow to my back, stick a beef jerky under each armpit, hold a knife between my teeth, cram as much blow into a canteen as possible, sketch out an extremely small topographical map of the area on my dong, and head off into the forest. I bet everyone is wondering why I didn’t bring water. Well, flake > water fuck face. I also make poor life choices. Like being a Husky fan.
So anyway, I pack my shit, draw squiggly lines all over my junk, and head into the woods. I noticed something right away. There are lots of trees in the woods. This realization, two days before doing battle with the Tree, coupled with my pathetic attention span, made me forget all about Sven. Fuck that guy. I am surrounded by our nemesis! Fucking green acorn dropping death machines. After sizing up the situation, outnumbered hundreds to one, I decide to attack. I pick out one extremely formidable looking sapling, and commence the blitzkrieg. After 12 hours of sawing with my pocket knife, it falls. On me. I went down like Dwayne Warshington during a half arm tackle. By an old woman. Fuck. The lesson here is if you have anything to do with Husky Football, no matter how tangentially, a Tree will stick it right in your shitter.
So anyway, there I am, pinned under this tree, kind of crabbing about like one of our Offensive lineman after he gets rolled on pretty much every play of any game. After a few hours stuck under the tree, I realize there seems to be a mushroom farm wedged into my ass. I root around for awhile with my free hand and find a couple. I eat them. Spirit world motherfuckers! I saw everything in the entire universe focused into two distinct points, the good and the bad. On one side there was Keeley Hazell, naked and ripe. On the other was our idiot football team looking dejected and befuddled on the sideline while Psalm Wooching danced some fag dance with fire. I became enraged and hard all at the same time. I used retard redman strength to splinter that 3 inch sapling, and I was free motherfuckers.
New mission. Either find Keeley Hazell and get her to go ATM, or napalm Husky Stadium. I begin my trek out of the forest. I am still stoned, and look like a naked Indian version of Crazy Larry after a 23 day bender.
As I ninja crawl out of the forest, I come upon a bear. An enormous black bear. @DennisDeYoung would like him. Cause he’s black. And enormous. So anyway, this bear starts talking to me. He says his name is Chris, and then asked me if I had any nachos. I’m 81% sure I blacked out at this point, and when I woke up most of my coke was gone and that goddamn bear had written dick jokes on my face. The lesson here is that when you suck at football, or are stoned out of your mind, a fat doog bear will come along and bitch slap you. Like Cal, who is still ranked too high, but better than the Huskies. Because Peterman.
I finally make it out of the forest, naked, covered in cuts, bark and bruises, dick jokes written all over my face, jerky lost, powder all stolen, crossbow missing, poison ivy swelling my junk (which really helped out with the topographical map), and thirsty as fuck (poor life decisions). I wander into this little town, and see a woman. I walk up and ask her if she has any Indian in her, when she says no and looks horrified, I ask her if she wants some. In what can only be described as another "fuck my life" moment, a small band of unicycle riding bodyguard circus pygmies hit me in the face with a brick, the woman cackles maniacally, and I wake up in jail. Turns out it was Barbara Hedges, the bastard pygmies worked for her, and this was one more fuck you insult from the football Gods on my odyssey.
I watch the game on a shitty little 27 inch TV behind bars with my cellmates Jesus (say that in Messican), Ryan Leaf, and some black dude everyone called String. The game summary is we? look like a competitor in the retard Olympics, and there is no reason to dissect it because Husky Football is dead and buried and any attempt to resurrect it will be met with laughter from the Gods and a swift kick in the balls.
Fuck this program. Fuck Upper Campus. Fuck this AD. Fuck this coaching staff. Fuck this team. And fuck me for having been born a fucking Husky fan. I hate everything. Even the spirit world took a shit on me.
Comments
Well done sir. This brightened my morning.
And good shit like banging cocktail waitresses doesn't happen to Cuogs.
@DerekJohnson get your shit together.